


Clean Out Your Wounds With Dirty Fingers

by sequence_fairy



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, M/M, but with a hopeful ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 14:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15687372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequence_fairy/pseuds/sequence_fairy
Summary: Keith doesn’t need to talk about what happened. He’s fine. Shiro disagrees.





	Clean Out Your Wounds With Dirty Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> Someone's gotta fill in all those conversations they don't have on the show and I nominate myself.

“Hey, Keith?” Shiro’s voice is still hoarse. Keith looks back from the pilot’s seat to where Shiro is laid out in his bunk and then back at the sprawl of empty space in front of them.

“Yeah?” Keith manages to keep his voice steady, but his grip on the controls goes white-knuckled at the swoop of trepidation in his gut. Shiro has been giving him space and time, but Keith always knew he’d run out of room eventually.

“We need to talk about what happened,” Shiro says, propping himself up on a pillow.

“Do we?” Keith asks, eyes trained on the instruments in front of him as if they have important news to give him.

“Yeah, we do.”

Keith knows Shiro is looking at him, can feel the other paladin’s eyes boring into the back of his head. “I’m good, Shiro, I don’t need to talk about anything.”

“Keith,” Shiro says and there’s a layer of command in his voice. Keith closes his eyes. He knows what he did. What Shiro almost did. What they both nearly did. There’s no need to discuss this. Just like how there was never any need to discuss what nearly happened during the fight for Naxzela. Keith likes to pretend no one knows how close he came that day or that he’d do it again if he had to.

Shiro coughs. It sounds painful. Keith chances a look behind him. Shiro’s arm is wrapped around his middle and the coughing keeps on. In the back of his mind, Keith feels the nudge of the Lion’s presence and he sighs. It’s not like he wasn’t going to help Shiro with this, but he’s definitely not talking about what happened.

The Lion will fly herself without Keith’s help, so he slips out of the chair and makes his way to the bunk, snagging a water pouch on his way. “Here,” he says to Shiro, handing him the water, straw already punched through the tetrapack. Shiro takes the water and Keith kneels beside him, supporting his back while Shiro drinks.

When he’s finished, Shiro hands Keith back the pouch, and Keith sets it on the ground behind him. “Thanks,” Shiro says and Keith nods. 

“I still don’t need to talk about anything,” Keith says, because he can see the way Shiro’s eyes catch on the barely healed plasma burn that climbs the side of his face. Keith resists the urge to bring his hand to his face in an effort to hide the damage. 

“Well, you might not,” Shiro says, looking over Keith, eyes stalling on his right shoulder, and left side, all the places where their fight had left Keith injured. “But I do.”

Keith hadn’t thought that Shiro might need to talk. He’s surprised by his surprise. He shouldn’t be. Why is he surprised by this? Why hadn’t he thought that Shiro might need to talk through what happened? “I– I’m sorry, Shiro. I didn’t think–”

“It’s okay,” Shiro says, leaning back against his pillow and closing his eyes. His brow furrows. Keith wonders if he’s in pain.

“Are– are you alright?” Keith asks. He’s almost afraid of the answer.

“I will be,” Shiro answers, not opening his eyes. Keith watches his remaining hand clench and unclench.

“I’m sorry I cut your arm off,” Keith says, because maybe if he apologizes for that, Shiro will drop this.

“In your defense, I was trying to kill you,” Shiro says, matter of fact. He grimaces, biting his lip. “I’m sorry about that,” Shiro says, opening his eyes. Keith is pinned by his gaze.

“It–it wasn’t your fault, you weren’t yourself,” Keith says. Shiro huffs.

“You could say that again.” Shiro sighs then looks up, eyes piercing. “Why did you follow me?”

Keith is taken aback by the question. He moves from kneeling to sitting cross-legged to cover the pause he takes to answer. Shiro waits him out. “Why wouldn’t I?” Keith knows he’s answering a question with a question, but in his defense, he still really doesn’t want to talk about this. 

Shiro doesn’t answer his question, and Keith thinks maybe he’s dodged this conversation. His celebration is premature, because the next thing Shiro says knocks the breath out of him. 

“You didn’t know Black was coming when you let go.”

It’s a statement, not a question. Keith reels. His first instinct is to lie, to tell Shiro that of course he knew the lion was coming, that of course he knew that letting go wasn’t suicide, but he clamps his mouth shut around the words, because lying to Shiro is anathema. He says nothing and glares at the floor instead. 

"Keith?” Shiro asks, after the silence stretches to brittleness between them.

“No,” Keith rasps, “I didn’t know the lion was coming. I didn’t think  _ anyone _ was coming. You said they were all dead. That you’d ‘taken care’ of them.” Keith drags in a harsh breath, looking up to catch Shiro’s eyes. Shiro flinches away from Keith’s gaze, dropping his eyes to where his hand curls in the blanket in his lap.

“I remember,” Shiro says, low and haunted. “I remember– you said–”

Keith remembers too. He remembers the smell of his flesh cooking under the heat of the plasma blade, remembers the weight of Shiro on his chest, remembers the way Shiro’s eyes had glinted, cold and unfeeling, lit by the sickly glow of Haggar’s magic. Keith remembers desperately trying to get through to Shiro, to bring him back. He remembers the words he had choked out, hates the memory of how desperate he’d sounded, how wrecked and thin his voice was.

“I barely got through to you.” Some part of Keith tells him he should stop now. Tells him that he shouldn’t burden Shiro with the rest of it. A louder, angrier part of him demands to be heard. “You almost killed me.”

“ _ Keith _ ,” Shiro says, despair thinning his voice down to almost nothing. It reminds Keith of the way he’d said his name on his hands and knees, lit by planetshine and flame. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I never meant–I couldn’t stop it, I’m sorry. God, I–”

“I–Shiro, I would have let you.” 

The confession drives a shocked gasp out of Shiro. “Keith!” Shiro’s voice breaks. Keith doesn't look up, can’t bear to face the expression on Shiro’s face. “No, you can’t mean that. You can’t.” 

“I do.” Keith says, lifting his gaze to meet Shiro’s head-on. Shiro’s eyes are wide, distress evident in every line of his face. “I’d have done anything,” Keith says, “ _ anything _ .” 

“Wh– _ why _ ?” 

“I thought that I didn’t want to be alive and alone. I thought that at least if we died together, I wouldn’t have to face life without them, without my family, without  _ you _ .” Keith’s last word seems to ring in the silence of the Black Lion’s cabin. 

“Jesus, Keith,” Shiro says, reaching for him. Keith lets Shiro haul him close, and ducks his head beneath Shiro’s chin, feeling the tight grip of Shiro’s hand on his arm. “Jesus Christ.” Shiro breathes, and Keith feels every shuddering second of every one.

“We were going to die anyway,” Keith says, voice muffled into Shiro’s chest. “I wanted to choose. I knew neither of us were getting off that station even before you attacked me.” Keith’s breath hitches. He swallows. He needs to get this out now or he’ll never say it. “I never planned on going back to the Castle of Lions. I figured you’d kill me, or I’d have to kill you, and then I wouldn’t have wanted to face them anyway, even before you told me you’d killed them all yourself.” 

Keith thinks back to the moment when Shiro had told him everyone else was gone. The staggering emptiness of his life without the rest of the paladins, losing his mother again… he would have thrown himself off the station if Shiro hadn’t done it for him. 

“I wasn’t going to live without you, Shiro. I’ve done that before. I won’t do it again.” 

Shiro’s arm tightens across his back. Keith leans, unconsciously, into the embrace. “You got me back,” Shiro says into Keith’s hair, and Keith pretends not to notice the way his voice has gone thick, because the burning behind his own eyes is becoming impossible to blink away. 

They stay like that for a long moment until Keith’s mind turns back to the lingering doubts that have taken root in his brainstem. 

“If I’d been there with you, instead of off with the Blades, maybe–” 

“No,” Shiro’s refusal is a whip-crack. “This isn’t on you.” 

Keith disengages from Shiro, sitting up and back. “I might’ve noticed sooner. Maybe we’d have been able to do something about it–”

“Stop,” Shiro says, and he settles back against his pillow again. “You can’t spend all your time on what-ifs and maybes, Keith. It’s more than enough to know that you came for me, that you fought for me, that you got me back,” Shiro’s gaze softens, “that you found me.”

Keith feels something warm buoy up in his chest. Coupled with the soothing presence of the lion, the doubts quiesce into ripples at the back of his mind. 

Shiro reaches up and rubs at his temple, grimacing.  

“Headache?” Keith asks, Shiro nods. “I’ll find something for it, I’ve got a first aid kit stashed around here somewhere.” Keith moves to stand, but Shiro grabs his hand to stop him.

“I don’t know how I’ll ever make this up to you,” Shiro says, softly, turning Keith’s hand over in his palm and lacing their fingers together. 

“You don’t have to,” Keith says. 

“How many times are you going to save me?” Shiro asks, the corner of his mouth turning up in a nod to their conversation the last time Keith had pulled Shiro out of nearly certain death. 

“As many times as I need to,” Keith says, squeezing Shiro’s hand and then letting it go. He gets to his feet. 

The search for painkillers takes longer than Keith would like, and by the time he comes back, Shiro is asleep. Keith leaves the bottle next to him, within easy reach, and goes back to the cockpit, sinking into the comfortable seat with a sigh. Space continues to sprawl out in front of him, but it no longer feels as lonely as it did before. 


End file.
